


Crash

by VexedBeverage



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, Hatfilms, Yogscast
Genre: Angst, I have no idea, Kinda, M/M, Song fic, Troffy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VexedBeverage/pseuds/VexedBeverage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of best friends and what happens when feelings get in the way of a lifelong friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

> This one is inspired by the song 'Crash' by You Me At Six - although it doesn't exactly fit the lyrics any more because of the directions I took this in instead. 
> 
> Thanks to Nisha, Chelsey, Oreo and Tam for your help with this one. You guys rock and I love you all to bits!

“You know what? I have had enough of you two, I’m going out before I fucking brain both of you.” Ross said, pushing his chair violently away from his desk and practically ripping his headphones off and slamming them onto his keyboard. “Sort your fucking shit out! Both of you!” He growled, making eye contact with both of his friends in turn before storming out of the room. 

Both Trott and Smith sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Enough time for Ross to go into his room, collect some things and leave the house, the front door slamming behind followed by another slam of his car door and the sound of screeching tyres as he sped away in his car. 

Trott stood up, taking his headphones off and sighing. 

“What the fuck is your problem lately?” Trott asked, one hand on his hip as he stared daggers at the man a few feet away from him. 

“My problem?” Smith asked, holding a hand to his chest and seeming to be offended by the question. “I don't have a fucking problem, mate.” 

Trott laughed, a bitter, nasty sound. “Don't you?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. “Because I wasn’t the one trying to pick a fucking fight.” 

Smith grit his teeth and took a breath through his nose. “What else am I meant to do Trott? You’ve been fucking ignoring me for weeks unless we’re recording.” 

“Me?!” Trott’s voice was high pitched and full of accusation. “I’m not the one flaking out whenever we’re meant to be doing something.” 

The air was full of tension, radiating off both men as Smith slowly stood from his seat. “Fuck this!” Smith’s voice was low with a deadly edge to it that Trott ignored and instead made him angrier as Smith turned his back and started to stride out of the room. 

“That’s it, mate. Run away like you always do! I hear that Ireland is nice this time of year if you’re looking for another country again.” 

Smith spun around to face him, his face contorted in anger at Trott’s comment. “Don’t you fucking dare make this about me, Chris.” Smith warned, finger pointing at the shorter man. 

“What the fuck else am I meant to make this about, Alex?” Trott spat back. “Because it sure as hell is not about a fucking video that I forgot to start rendering.” 

*********

They had been friends for what seemed like forever, neither could remember their first encounter - they had just always been there – the two of them against the world. 

They had been together through primary school, playing British Bulldog and Pogs. Playing tracking with pieces of chalk pilfered from school and battling kids as a team at Pokémon. They excelled in knock-door-run and whiled away hours upon hours playing any kind of make believe they could. 

The boys were inseparable, showing no signs of in fighting that the other groups of children did. They finished each other's sentences and just had to look at each other to know what the other was thinking, getting them in trouble often with teachers and their parents.   
\--  
Alex laughed. His stomach lurching with the momentum of the swing as he pumped his legs in time with Chris’ next to him. 

“Come on! We can go higher!” Chris encouraged, leaning back as much as possible with his hands white knuckling around the chains as he hit the peak of the swing before throwing his weight forwards and tucking his legs underneath in an attempt to go faster. 

“If we go much higher, we’re gonna go over!” 

“You scared?” Chris teased. “Big scaredy cat!” 

“Am not!” Alex shouted, pushing himself to go faster and higher than the boy on the swing next to him. 

The boys continued to goad each other in the early evening light. The park almost empty of other children as they pumped their legs. 

Wind rushed through Chris’ hair, pushing it away from his forehead and numbing his face and hands as they swung – shouting about things neither would be able to recall later as their legs got heavier, feeling like lead. 

“Do you think we’ll be in the same class next year?” Chris asked, turning his head and adjusting his rhythm so he and Alex were hitting the peak at the same time, swinging in time with each other. 

“I don’t know, man. My brother and his friends from primary got to be in the same class, so maybe.” 

Chris made a face, not happy that he hadn’t been able to be totally reassured. It wasn’t that he didn’t have other friends or that he had trouble making new ones but it had been him and Alex for as long as he could remember. They had gone to an open day at their high school where they would be starting in September and it was terrifying to Chris, it was so big and intimidating but Alex seemed to shrug all of it off whilst Chris silently worried about it. 

A far away shout of his name had Chris snapping out of his thoughts as his mother called for him to come home. 

Chris skipped the flat of his shoes against the floor and stopped swinging, trying to bring himself to a gentle stop. Alex slowed his swinging but kept his feet off the ground to keep going at a more sedate pace.

The smaller boy stood on wobbly legs, stamping his feet on the hard concrete to try and get some feeling back into them. “You coming?” Chris asked the boy still swinging next to him. 

Alex grinned at him, kicking his legs again until he was at the peak of his swing and launching himself from his seat. He let out a shout of joy as he seemed to soar through the air for a second before landing on the hard ground with a scream of pain and something that sounded to Chris, like a loud ‘snap’. 

“Alex!” Chris’ legs were still numb as he stumbled over to his friend writhing on the ground. Alex’s face was pale, his teeth clenched as he screamed through them. 

Chris crashed to his knees next to his friend, a hand reaching out to touch the leg that Alex was clutching to his chest. “Don’t touch it!” Alex screamed, shrinking away from his friend.

“I’ll go get help.” Chris said, struggling to his feet. 

Alex grabbed at his ankle. “Don’t leave me, please!” 

Chris whipped his head around, looking for any sign of help but seeing no one. The park had emptied a while ago and there was no one in sight. “I have to go get help, Alex.” Chris implored, wiping away the tears from his eyes as Alex pleaded with him with his own red and wet eyes. “I promise I won’t be long, I’ll run as fast and I can and come right back.” 

Alex was crying openly, screaming and clutching his leg, unable to make any coherent words through the pain as Chris pushed himself to his feet and ran without looking back at his friend on the floor. 

 

Chris remembered crying himself to sleep that night, his mother had insisted that he couldn’t go back for Alex and that he had been taken to the hospital and would be fine. 

The broken promise made him feel sick. Breaking promises was not something the eleven year old was okay with, especially not to his best friend. 

He had begged Alex for forgiveness at the first opportunity once he was able to go over to see him. Alex didn’t hesitate to forgive him and gave him the honour of being the first one to sign his bright green cast. Before encouraging Chris to cover the whole thing in little doodles as they sat talking and watching cartoons for the rest of the day.

**********

Trott had never really seen the point in girlfriends. Smith kept insisting that one day it would just hit Trott, that he was just a late bloomer or something and that he would see the appeal. 

Smith had been telling Trott the same thing since they were ten and Smith got his first girlfriend to play kiss chase with around the playground. 

Trott was now thirteen, into his second year of high school and he still didn’t see the appeal. He would much rather just hang out with Smith around his house, lying on the old blow up air mattress and talking about anything that popped into their heads than spend any time alone with any of the girls he knew. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like them as people, girls were fine in Trott’s opinion – but it didn’t mean he wanted to kiss any of them like Smith talked about. He certainly didn’t want to do any of the stuff that they had heard Smith’s older brother talk about with girls.

He supposed he should have realised sooner – it seemed so obvious once he recognised the feelings. Trott just wasn’t attracted to girls. He was gay. 

Gay - that word that had been thrown around so many times at school. ‘your hair is gay’, ‘that game is gay’, ‘homework is gay’, It went on and on. The negative connotations of the word bouncing around Trott’s head as he tried desperately to hide any trace of it on the outside. 

The installation of the internet into homes was something that Trott would be forever grateful for. He had struggled alone with the knowledge of what he was, ignoring the growing feelings that he felt for his best friend and the internet gave him an outlet. 

Online he could be anonymous and himself all at once, he could talk to other boys in his situation – chatrooms full of people just like him – too scared to be themselves in real life. 

With an outlet for his secret Trott felt safer, spending more time with Smith again when the other boy didn’t have one of his many strings of girlfriends around. 

*********

“Won’t your brother go mental if he finds out we’ve been in his room?” Trott whispered as Smith pushed open the door. 

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” Smith replied, entering the room fully and making a beeline for the wardrobe. 

“And your parents are out all night, right?” 

Smith rolled his eyes at his friend. “Yes!” He answered, exasperation colouring his tone. “They aren’t back until tomorrow so they won’t even know.” 

“Fine.” Trott huffed. “But, I’m not drinking cider. That stuff is rank.” 

“Like you’d know.” Smith muttered. 

Trott pushed at Smith’s shoulder, making him crash into the door that he had opened to search the wardrobe in front of him. “Prick.” 

Smith barked a laugh at his friend and reached a hand inside to rummage around under the pile of clothes in front of him, grinning in triumph when his hand connected with a glass bottle. “Vodka it is then. You ready to get rat arsed, Trotty?” 

Trott grinned back at Smith. “Fuck, yes.” Slapping his hand against his friends in a celebratory high five.

**********

Trott had never been known to be able to hold his drink. Smith couldn’t even remember the amount of times he had to sneak Trott into his house in the early hours after he had finally stopped emptying the contents of his stomach, more often than not - on his own shoes. 

That night wasn’t shaping up to be any different. Trott was leaning heavily against the wall with one shoulder as he downed shots handed to him by a number of other kids. 

The last time Trott had seen Smith, he had been jumping around in the living room to some terrible pop song that Trott didn’t know the name of. He had been pressed against some tall, blonde girl - seeming to be whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Trott had stumbled passed, needing something a lot stronger than his earlier cans of cider if he was to have to watch the object of his affection be pawed at by some horrid skank.

Trott grinned as the alcohol coursed through his body, his head feeling delightfully light and foggy as he held a hand up to signal he didn’t want another shot. Fifteen - or was it sixteen? - was enough to make him hold his head high as he went in search of his friend. 

Trott found Smith in the same place he had seen him last, on the makeshift dance floor which was really just the space where the coffee table usually stood in the centre of the room. The girl's hands were buried in Smith’s too long hair as she kissed at his neck. 

“Smith!” Trott greeted as he approached, throwing his arms wide and ignoring the fact that Smith was otherwise engaged. 

Smith stepped back slightly from the girl who let out a noise of complaint. “Alright, Trott?” Smith greeted, ignoring the other boys outstretched arms. 

“Come dance with me!” Trott demanded, moving his hips to the music trying to get Smith to join him. 

Smith smiled at him. “How many have you had, mate?” 

Trott swayed on the spot, stumbling a little but catching himself before he fell. “A couple.” 

Smith barked a laugh. “A couple too many, maybe.” 

The blonde girl clicked her tongue, trying to get Smith’s attention but he ignored her and instead walked towards Trott, placing steadying hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You’ve been at the fucking tequila again, haven’t you?” 

With a huff of annoyance the girl stomped over to the two boys, grabbing Smith’s arms and pulled them away from Trott. “Excuse you. You’re interrupting.” She spat at the smaller boy before offering him a smile dripping with condescendence. “Now run along and let Alex get back to enjoying himself.” 

Trott narrowed his eyes at the girl as she wrapped her arms around Smith’s neck again, placing her body between Trott and Smith. 

Smith turned his head to avoid her approaching lips against his and placed his hands on the girl’s hips, taking a step back from her. “Do I not get a say in this?” 

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” She asked, dropping her arms and placing her hands on top of Smith’s at her hips.

“He’s my friend.” Smith stated, slipping his hands from under hers. 

She huffed again. “Fine.” She snapped. “Go dance with your boyfriend. Fucking homo.” 

Smith watched as she stomped off and through one of the doors. 

“Sorry.” Trott apologised, frowning at his friend. 

Smith shrugged. “She wasn’t worth my time anyway.” 

“But I am?” 

Smith laughed. “Always, mate.” 

Trott beamed at him and stumbled as he tried to land an affectionate punch to Smith’s shoulder, grabbing onto his friend as he fell back onto the sofa with a shout of surprise, bringing Smith with him and smacking their foreheads together. 

“Fuck!” Smith rubbed at his head with one hand, the other one on the sofa cushion next to Trott, stopping himself from crushing the smaller man beneath him. 

Trott untangled an arm to rub at his friends head too. “Fuck, Smith. Sorry.” He said as Smith pulled away from his hand. 

“Its fine, Trott.” Smith reassured. “How’s yours?” He asked, his hand pushing Trott’s fringe off his forehead to have a look, leaning in closer. 

Trott wet his lips, breathing shallow and trying not to react too much to the feel of Smith pressed against him or the warmness of the other boys hand against his head. “It’s fine.”

Smith’s eyes travelled down Trott’s face, their eyes meeting. “Are you sure? It was a pretty hard knock, mine hurts like a bitch.” 

Trott wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the knock to the head or something else entirely that made him act on his feelings. 

It could have been the dark quality to Smith’s eyes that seemed like an invitation to the other boy. It could have been the way that Smith still hadn’t moved away from him and was gently stroking the skin of Trott’s forehead with his thumb. It could have been because of what Trott swore was the flick of Smith’s eyes to Trott’s lips and back to his eyes again. 

Trott’s hand raked through Smith’s hair, - softer even than he had imagined it - as he arched his back upwards to press their lips together, the space slowly shrinking as Trott let his eyes slowly fall closed. He could have sworn that Smith’s hand had moved from his forehead to cradle the back of his neck. 

“Gays!” The scream cut through the room and Smith launched himself away from Trott, his back hitting the floor before he scrambled to his feet. 

“Fucking homo’s!” Another shout sounded followed by the sound of fake retching from the doorway. 

Smith didn’t stay to find out who had seen, instead scrambling to his feet and fleeing the party. Feeling sick and glad that it was the end of the school year and he wouldn’t have to see anyone from the party until school started up again in a few months - hoping against everything that no one would remember what they saw come September.

**********

Smith didn’t answer Trott’s calls. 

He didn’t answer the door. 

He didn’t reply to what had to amount to hundreds of emails that Trott sent to him over the summer. 

Smith was hiding, staying as far away from Trott as he could. Playing video games in his room and trying to ignore that anything had ever happened at the party. 

School started back up. 

**********

“I’m not coming to Portsmouth, Trott.” Smith announced down the headset at his friend on the other end of the connection. 

The pause screen came up, Smith slid his hands from his keyboard and mouse to the desk beside him and took a deep breath to try and steady himself for the conversation that was coming. 

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not coming to Portsmouth?” Trott asked, his voice high in Smith’s ears. “We fucking decided on Portsmouth when we were fourteen, Smith. We were going to get a flat together so we don’t have to live in fucking halls and split all the bills. We were going to have game nights and do Fresher’s week together.” 

“I know, Trott.” Smith answered with a flat voice. 

“Don’t, ‘I know, Trott’, me! We promised we would do this together. You said you didn’t want to do it on your own and I agreed.” Trott ranted. “You said you’d help me with the gay stuff and be there for me!” 

Smith screwed his eyes shut against the sound of Trott’s voice breaking. Trying desperately to not let the other boys sniffs and stifled sobs affect him. “I can’t do all that for you, Trott.”

“What fucking changed, Alex?” Trott asked, anger making his voice raise. 

“You did.” Smith accused. “The last few years have been fucking weird, Trott. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it. Something is weird between us and it isn’t right.” 

“Not right?” Trott shot back. “No, I suppose the fact that I like boys isn’t right to you is it?” 

“Trott, mate.” Smith said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “You know I don’t have a problem with you being gay, I’ve fucking stood up for you and took punches for you over it.” 

Trott barked a bitter laugh. “When it suited you.” He spat. “What about all those times in school, Smith? What about the time they broke my fucking nose and you just stood watching until they were done with me? What about the fact that I can’t come to your house anymore because you won’t stop your brother from calling me shit? What about all the times you ditched me for months whenever the rumours started up about us?”

Smith slammed his hand down on the mouse in front of him and disconnected the call. Typing out a short line of text to the other boy before shutting the computer down. 

‘Don’t fucking talk to me again.’ 

 

Trott wasn’t sure which was more painful. The six months that he had to see Smith around college but not be able to talk to him or the next year when they were separated not just by their estrangement but almost two hundred miles of country. 

 

“Did you see him then?” Ross asked as he and Trott moved the last of their boxes into the living room of their new flat. 

“Who?” Trott asked, straightening up and wiping his hands on his jeans. 

Ross raised an eyebrow. “The fucking pope, Trott. Who do you think?” When Trott offered nothing but a questioning look Ross sighed and threw himself down onto the sofa they had just moved into position in front of the TV. “Smith.” 

Ross was pretty sure that if he heard much more about Alex Smith, he wouldn’t ever need to meet the man. Not that he was complaining, heartache was what had got the two men to become friends in the first place. Ross’ over his high school girlfriend who had broken up with him on the day they both shipped off to uni and Trott’s over the infamous Alex Smith. 

Trott sat down next to Ross, propping his feet up on a box. “Didn’t see him once.” Trott supplied. “Not that I went looking or anything, but it’s not exactly a big town, y’know? You would think I would have ran into him at least once during the summer.” 

Ross shrugged. “Maybe you should just let it go, mate.” 

Trott huffed a laugh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last year and a half.” 

The dark haired man nodded. “You miss him still.” It wasn’t a question. 

“He was my best friend my whole life, Ross. We used to do everything together and then my feelings came along and fucked everything up. I just want my friend back.” 

Ross bumped his shoulder against Trott’s. “You got me now, mate.” 

Trott made a face. “Oh god, don’t make me more depressed.” 

Ross pushed at him again. “Prick.” He grinned. “Come on, get your rainbow shirt on and let’s hit up the union.” Ross said, pushing himself to his feet and offering Trott his hand to help him up. “There’s nothing like a gay wingman to get the ladies flocking.” 

Trott groaned but took Ross’ hand anyway. “Fine, but I am not rescuing you if some weird fourth year tries it on like last year.” 

Ross rolled his eyes. “That was one time! And she wouldn’t take no for an answer!” 

“I had to wash my hand like fifty times to get all the hetro germs off it!” Trott shot back. 

Ross laughed, turning and wiggling his arse in Trott’s direction. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it, Trotty. I have a great arse.” 

Trott kicked out with the side of his foot, connecting with Ross’ behind and sending him sprawling back onto the sofa. “You disgust me.” 

Ross just laughed in response, pushing himself back to his feet and making his was towards his room to get changed for their night out. 

 

It wasn’t until the second year of uni that Smith finally gave in. It had been so long since he had spoken to who he still considered to be his best friend – even after almost three years of not talking to Trott. 

It was something he had tried to do so many times, numerous emails started and then deleted as he couldn’t put what he wanted to say into words until finally with the aid of some liquid courage he logged onto his messenger service on his computer and sent Trott a message. 

S: Hey  
T: Hello?  
S: How’s uni going?   
T: Alright, thanks. You?  
S: It’s pretty good

Trott was confused and unnerved by the out of the blue contact from Smith but he leant over his laptop, his fingers poised and ready to type back a response as soon as Smith sent him anything. 

S: I miss you, man  
S: I miss my best friend  
T: Really?   
S: Of course, mate. It’s been so fucking long and I just want to forget how we left things last time. 

Smith wasn’t sure what he was typing, just letting anything spew out through the keyboard. 

S: I miss playing games with you and talking about shit that no one else gets.   
T: Me too  
S: Do you think that maybe we could just like- start again?

Trott stared at the screen, watching the blinking of his cursor as the minutes ticked by. 

S: Trott?   
S: Mate?  
S: Chris, please? 

Trott took a deep breath and rested his fingers back on the keys for a second before typing back. 

T: You got a PS3?  
S: Yeah, why?   
T: Thursday nights me and my roommate play COD zombies, I can give you his ID if you fancy playing with us? 

 

That was all it took, one video game and it was like nothing had ever happened between the two friends. 

Feelings were buried and ignored in favour of friendship as the year finished and melded into the next, Ross somehow being absorbed into their friendship as if he had always been there.

**********

Smith’s breathing was ragged as he stared Trott down. The comment about running to another country cutting much deeper than Trott could ever know.

Trott waited for an answer, one hand still on his hip and an eyebrow raised. “Well?” He asked, voice much calmer than it had been. 

“Can we not do this?” Smith asked, his voice also lowered - sounding almost defeated. 

“I don't know exactly what we’re not meant to be doing, Smith. You won’t tell me.” 

Smith walked away from his desk and towards the sofa, falling back into the cushions and fisting a hand in his hair. He wasn’t sure he should tell Trott what was bothering him.

Trott let his hand fall from his hip, glad that Smith had stopped shouting and was actually sticking around to talk things through. 

With slow movements, Trott made his own way over to the sofa and sat next to his friend. “You’ve been acting weird since the stream.” Trott prodded, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

Smith nodded in agreement but didn’t reply verbally. 

“Is it the shipping questions?” 

The taller man nodded again, not able to find his voice. 

“Smith, they don't know a fucking thing about us, okay? It’s nothing to get pissed off about, mate.” 

Smith cleared his throat. “I know.” He said, resting his head against the back of the soft and staring up at the ceiling. “But I don't help things, do I?” 

Trott shrugged. “It’s just the way we are, Smith. We flirt and make jokes, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” The lie tasted sour on Trott’s tongue, it didn’t mean anything to Smith but to Trott it did. 

It was a vicious cycle of pain for Trott. Feelings that he knew were never seriously reciprocated from Smith, yet Trott went along with it - living for the moments where he could fool himself into believing that Smith meant what he said until he would crash back down to earth and be left a broken husk once the recording stopped and Smith backed away again. 

“We never talked about it, Trott.” Smith said, shifting in his seat so he could rest his elbows on his knees and hold his head in his hands. 

Trott’s heart skipped a beat as he registered Smith’s words and guessed their meaning but asked for clarification anyway. “Talked about what?” 

“The party…” 

There was no question as to which party Smith was referring. Trott let his eyes fall to the floor halfway between where they sat and the TV. “You were my best friend and I violated that by what I did, I shouldn’t have done it. I read the situation wrong.” Trott explained. 

The silence that Trott’s confession was met with was deafening. The ticking of a clock and the buzz of the freezer running in the other room seeming loud to the men in the living room. 

Trott wasn’t sure what else to say. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything - he had just made it awkward again when it finally seemed like Smith had been ready to talk about the situation from years before.

Trott opened his mouth to apologise again, not comfortable in the silence. Planning to go to his room to get away from the awkward situation when Smith mumbled something. 

“You didn’t read it wrong”

Trott snapped his mouth shut, his eyes widening at Smith’s admission. Needing clarification he voiced a question. “What did you just say?” 

Smith cleared his throat before taking a deep breath. “You have always known me the best Trott, much better than I ever even knew myself.” One of Smith’s hands slid from under his chin and buried back into his hair as he continued. “I wasn’t ready, back then. To accept what I was.” He tried to explain, internally berating himself that it wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. “You know what my family is like, and school…” 

Trott’s eyes rose slowly from the floor to the wall, his head unbowed. He wet his lips and tried to ignore the golf ball stuck in his throat and the erratic beating in his chest as he hoped he wasn’t reading too much into Smith’s phrasing. “Weren’t ready?” It’s not the most explicit question - open to interpretation but he knew that Smith would get it

The hand that had been fisted into his hair slid down his face, scrubbing at his skin for a second before settling on twisting some of the longer strands of his beard. Without looking at Trott he answered. “No, I wasn’t.” 

Trott ran his tongue over his front teeth in annoyance and sighed sharply at Smith’s non answer. “I can’t do this again, Smith.” He admitted. “I can’t take another rejection from you. So if that’s what this is then just tell me and we'll forget this conversation ever happened.”

Smith focused his eyes on the wall, unable to turn his head and look at the man next to him as he took some deep breaths to try and tell Trott the truth. Tangling his hands together in his lap, Smith finally breathed out the words that he had been holding in for years. “I think I’m in love with you.” 

Trott’s head lifted quickly, his eyes landing on Smith sitting next to him. Switching between overjoyed and a deep fear that he misheard the other man as his stomach knotted. “You think, or you are?” He asked, voice low and gentle despite the voice screaming in his head to just do something – anything.

Smith’s eyes fell to his hands where he rubbed at a callas on the side of his index finger. “I am.” He mumbled. 

Trott’s breath seemed to have been taken from him as his heart slammed an erratic rhythm through his chest. His head whipped around to look at the other man but Smith was avoiding looking anywhere near him. 

Trott’s brain was working in slow motion as he sucked in a large breath and muttered a quiet ‘okay’ to himself and slid to the floor. He turned, first kneeling and then sitting back on his feet in front of Smith’s legs so he could catch the other man’s gaze. “Alex?” 

The use of his first name had Smith looking up and immediately finding Trott’s deep browns eyes in front of him. “I don't know what this means.” He admitted, looking at Trott - eyes roaming over his all too familiar features. 

“What do you want it to mean?” Trott asked, keeping unnaturally still under Smith's scrutiny. 

“I want-” He stopped himself, instead asking another question. “Am I too late?”

Trott smiled at him, his left hand coming up to rest on Smith’s knee. “Not for me, Sunshine.”

Smith untangled his hands and placed one on top of Trott's. Trott lifted his hand, interlocking his fingers with Smith’s, smiling at how hot Smith’s hand felt in his and how it made his seem so much smaller. 

“I’m going to kiss you now-” Trott announced, making it sound like a question - his voice flat, even, and a million miles from how he was really feeling.

Smith’s nod was barely a movement but Trott’s face split into a huge smile at the gesture. Trott’s hand tightened its grip on Smith’s, he rose from sitting on his heels to his knees and brought the hand still on Smith’s knee to the other man’s face, tilting it with a gentle press against his cheek as their faces inched closer together.


End file.
